Helena:Hæmon!Fulvia(restraining her): No, Helena.Charles:Omnipotence?And could Omnipotence make such a fool?There must be two Gods in the world to do it.Hæmon:She shall not——!
Helena:Hæmon!
Fulvia(restraining her): No, Helena.
Charles:Omnipotence?And could Omnipotence make such a fool?There must be two Gods in the world to do it.
Hæmon:She shall not——!
(Attempts to killHelena.)
Antonio(preventing): Fury!—Ah! what would you do?Charles:Such things can be? A sister, yet he strikes? (Hæmonis seized.)Helena:O let me speak with him, sir, let me speak!Charles:Not now, girl, no, not now—lest in his breathBe venom for thee! (To soldiers.) Shut him from our gatesTill he repent this fever.(Hæmongoes quietly out.)(To guests who are suspicious and undetermined.) If you stare soWill the skies stop! Have I not arm in armFriended this youth and meant him honor still?Leave me. I had a thing to tell; but itMust wait more seasonable festivity.(ToPaula.) See to thy mistress, child. Antonio, stay.
Antonio(preventing): Fury!—Ah! what would you do?
Charles:Such things can be? A sister, yet he strikes? (Hæmonis seized.)
Helena:O let me speak with him, sir, let me speak!
Charles:Not now, girl, no, not now—lest in his breathBe venom for thee! (To soldiers.) Shut him from our gatesTill he repent this fever.(Hæmongoes quietly out.)(To guests who are suspicious and undetermined.) If you stare soWill the skies stop! Have I not arm in armFriended this youth and meant him honor still?Leave me. I had a thing to tell; but itMust wait more seasonable festivity.(ToPaula.) See to thy mistress, child. Antonio, stay.
(All go butAntonioandCharles,who leaves his chair slowly and with dejection.)
Antonio:Father——Charles(unheeding): Did I not humble me?Antonio:Father——?Charles:Or ask more than a brevity of joyTo bud on my life's withering close?Antonio:But, sir——!Charles:If it bud not——!Antonio:What thought impels and wringsThese angers from your eyes?Charles(slowly, gazing at him): You're like your mother.Antonio:In trouble for your peace, more than in feature.Charles:Peace—peace? Antonio, a dream has come:To stir—to wake—to learn it is a dream—I must not, will not look on such abyss.You love me, boy?Antonio:Sir, well: you cannot doubt it.Charles:There has been darkness in me—and it seemsSuch night as would put out a heaven of hope,Quench an eternity of flaming joy!I have sunk down under the world and hitOn nethermost despair: flown blind acrossAn infinite unrest!Antonio:Forget it, now.Charles:Had I drunk Lethe's all 'twould not have stilledThe crying of my desolation's want.Within me tenderness to iron turned,Gladness to worm and gloom.—But 'tis o'erpast.A rift, a smile, a breath has come—blown meFrom torture to an ecstasy.Antonio:To——?Charles:Ecstasy!Such as surrounds Hyperion on his sun,Or Pleiads sweeping seven-fold the night.Antonio:And you—this breath——?Charles:Is—you are pale!And press your lips from trembling!Antonio:No—yes—well—This ecstasy?Charles:Is love! is love that— How?You feign! distress and groaning tear in you!Antonio:No. She you love——Charles:O, Eve new-burst on Eden,All pure with the prime beauty of God's breath,Was not so!Antonio:She is Helena?—the Greek?Charles:She—Still you do not ail?—Yes, Helena,Who—But you are not well and cannot shareThis ravishment!—I will not ask it—now.This ravishment!—Ah, she has stayed the treadAnd stilled the whispering of death: has calledEchoes of youth from me! and all I feared....I think—you are not well. Shall we go in?
Antonio:Father——
Charles(unheeding): Did I not humble me?
Antonio:Father——?
Charles:Or ask more than a brevity of joyTo bud on my life's withering close?
Antonio:But, sir——!
Charles:If it bud not——!
Antonio:What thought impels and wringsThese angers from your eyes?
Charles(slowly, gazing at him): You're like your mother.
Antonio:In trouble for your peace, more than in feature.
Charles:Peace—peace? Antonio, a dream has come:To stir—to wake—to learn it is a dream—I must not, will not look on such abyss.You love me, boy?
Antonio:Sir, well: you cannot doubt it.
Charles:There has been darkness in me—and it seemsSuch night as would put out a heaven of hope,Quench an eternity of flaming joy!I have sunk down under the world and hitOn nethermost despair: flown blind acrossAn infinite unrest!
Antonio:Forget it, now.
Charles:Had I drunk Lethe's all 'twould not have stilledThe crying of my desolation's want.Within me tenderness to iron turned,Gladness to worm and gloom.—But 'tis o'erpast.A rift, a smile, a breath has come—blown meFrom torture to an ecstasy.
Antonio:To——?
Charles:Ecstasy!Such as surrounds Hyperion on his sun,Or Pleiads sweeping seven-fold the night.
Antonio:And you—this breath——?
Charles:Is—you are pale!And press your lips from trembling!
Antonio:No—yes—well—This ecstasy?
Charles:Is love! is love that— How?You feign! distress and groaning tear in you!
Antonio:No. She you love——
Charles:O, Eve new-burst on Eden,All pure with the prime beauty of God's breath,Was not so!
Antonio:She is Helena?—the Greek?
Charles:She—Still you do not ail?—Yes, Helena,Who—But you are not well and cannot shareThis ravishment!—I will not ask it—now.This ravishment!—Ah, she has stayed the treadAnd stilled the whispering of death: has calledEchoes of youth from me! and all I feared....I think—you are not well. Shall we go in?
Scene.—The gardens of the castle. Paths meet under a large lime in the centre, where seats are placed. The wall of the garden crosses the rear, and has a postern. It is night of the same day, and behind a convent on a near hill the moon is rising. A nightingale sings.
Scene.—The gardens of the castle. Paths meet under a large lime in the centre, where seats are placed. The wall of the garden crosses the rear, and has a postern. It is night of the same day, and behind a convent on a near hill the moon is rising. A nightingale sings.
EnterGiulia,Cecco,andNaldo.
Giulia:That bird! Always so noisy, always vainOf gushing. Sing, and sing, sing, sing, it must!As if nobody else would speak or sleep.Cecco:Let the bird be, my jaunty. 'Tis no lieThe shrew and nightingale were never friends.Giulia:No more were shrew and serpent.Cecco:Well what wouldYou scratch from me?Giulia:If there is anythingTo be got from you, then it must be scratched.Cecco:Yet shrews do not scratch serpents.Giulia:If they're caughtWhere they can neither coil nor strike?Cecco:Well,IBegin to coil.Giulia:And I'll begin to scotchYou ere 'tis done.—Give me the postern key.Cecco:Your lady's voice—but you are not your lady.Giulia:And were I you not long would be your lord's.Give me the key.Cecco:I coil—I coil! will soonBe ready for a strike, my tender shrew.Giulia:Does the duke know you've hidden from his earAntonio's passion? does he?—ah?—and shallI tell him? ah?Cecco:You heard then——Giulia:He likes wellWhat's kept so thriftily.Cecco(scowling):You want the keyTo let in Boro to chuck your baby faceAnd moon with you! He's been discharged—take care.Giulia:The duke might learn, too, you're not clear betweenHis ducats and your own.Cecco:There then (gives key), but——Giulia(as he goes):Oh?And shrews do not scratch serpents? You may spy,But others are not witless, I can tell you!(Ceccogoes.Now, Naldo (gives him key and writing), do not lose the writing. ButShould you, he must not come till two. For 'tisAt twelve the Greek will meet Antonio.
Giulia:That bird! Always so noisy, always vainOf gushing. Sing, and sing, sing, sing, it must!As if nobody else would speak or sleep.
Cecco:Let the bird be, my jaunty. 'Tis no lieThe shrew and nightingale were never friends.
Giulia:No more were shrew and serpent.
Cecco:Well what wouldYou scratch from me?
Giulia:If there is anythingTo be got from you, then it must be scratched.
Cecco:Yet shrews do not scratch serpents.
Giulia:If they're caughtWhere they can neither coil nor strike?
Cecco:Well,IBegin to coil.
Giulia:And I'll begin to scotchYou ere 'tis done.—Give me the postern key.
Cecco:Your lady's voice—but you are not your lady.
Giulia:And were I you not long would be your lord's.Give me the key.
Cecco:I coil—I coil! will soonBe ready for a strike, my tender shrew.
Giulia:Does the duke know you've hidden from his earAntonio's passion? does he?—ah?—and shallI tell him? ah?
Cecco:You heard then——
Giulia:He likes wellWhat's kept so thriftily.
Cecco(scowling):You want the keyTo let in Boro to chuck your baby faceAnd moon with you! He's been discharged—take care.
Giulia:The duke might learn, too, you're not clear betweenHis ducats and your own.
Cecco:There then (gives key), but——
Giulia(as he goes):Oh?And shrews do not scratch serpents? You may spy,But others are not witless, I can tell you!(Ceccogoes.Now, Naldo (gives him key and writing), do not lose the writing. ButShould you, he must not come till two. For 'tisAt twelve the Greek will meet Antonio.
(Naldogoes, through the postern:Giuliato the castle.
EnterHelenaandPaulafrom another part of the gardens.
Helena:At twelve, said he, at twelve, beside the arbor?Paula:Yes, mistress.Helena:I were patient if the moonWould slip less sadly up. She is so pale—With longing for Endymion her lover.Paula:Has she a lover? Oh, how strange. Is itSo sweet to love, my lady? I have heardMen die and women for it weep themselvesInto the grave—yet gladly.Helena:Sweet? Ah, yes,To terror! for the edge of fate cares notHow quick it severs.Paula:On my simple hillsThey told of one who slew herself on herDead lover's breast. Would you do so?Would you, my lady?Helena:There's no twain in love.My heart is in my lord Antonio'sTo beat, Paula, or cease with it.Paula:But diedHe far away?Helena:Far sunders flesh not souls.Across all lands the hush of death on himWould sound to me; and, did he live, denial,Though every voice and silence spoke it, couldNot reach my rest!—But he is near.Paula:O no,Not yet, my lady.Helena:Then some wearinessHas pluckt the minutes' wings and they have crept.Paula:But 'tis not twelve, else would we hear the bandOf holy Basil from their convent peaceDreamily chant.Helena:Nay, hearts may hear beyondThe hark of ears! Listen! to me his stepThrills thro' the earth.(Antonioapproaches and enters the postern.)'Tis he! Go Paula, go:But sleep not.(Paulahastens out.)(Going to him.) My Antonio, I breathe,Now no betiding fell athwart thy pathTo stay thee from me!Antonio:Stronger than all betidingThis hour has reached and drawn me yearning to thee! (Takes her in his arms.)Helena:And may all hours!Antonio:All! tho' we two will stillBe more than destiny—which cannot graspBeyond the grave.Helena:'Tis sadly put, my lord.Antonio:Ah, sadly, loathly; but, my Helena—Helena:I would not sink from it, the simple sun—Fade to a tomb! What dirging hast thou heardTo mind thee of it?Antonio:Love is a bliss too brightTo rest on earth. With it God should give usEver to soar above mortality.But you must know——!Helena:Not yet, tell me not yet!Dimly I see the burden in your eyes,But dare not take it yet into my own.Let us a little look upon the moon,Forgetting. (They seat themselves.)Antonio(musingly): These hands—this hair—(Caressing them.)Helena:Like a farewellYour touch falls on them.Antonio(moved):To a father yield them?Helena:Antonio?Antonio(still caressing): No, no! It cannot be!Helena:This dread—and shrinking—let me have it!—speak!You mean—look on me!—mean, your father?—Antonio:Ah!It must not! must not!Helena:Do you mean—he—No!Let him not touch me even in thy thought,To me come nearer than a father may!Antonio:He's swept by the sweet contagion of you, wraptIn a fierce spell by your effulgent youth.Helena:Say, say it not! To him I but smiled up—But smiled!Antonio:He knew not that such smiles could dawnIn a bare world. And now is flame; would takeYour tenderness into his arms and hearSeized to him the warm music of your heart.O, I could be for him—he is my father—Prometheus stormed and gnawed on Caucasus,Tantalus ever near the slipping wave,Or torn and tossed to burning martyrdom—But not—not this!Helena:Then, flight! In it we mayFind haven and new nurture for our bliss.Antonio:Snap from his hunger this one hope, so heMust starve? Push him who has but learned there's lightBack into yawning blindness? Ah, not flight!Helena:I know he is your father, and my daysHave been all fatherless, tho' I have madeMe child to every wind that had caressAnd to each lonely tree of the deep wood—Oft envious of those who touch gray hairs,Or spend desire on filial grief and pang.And most have you a softness in him kept,Been to him more than empire's tyranny—But baffled none can measure him nor trust!Antonio:Yet must we wait.Helena:When waiting shall but goadThe speed of peril?Antonio:Still: and strain to winHim from this brink.—If vainly, then birth, pity,And memory shall fall from me!—all, all,But fierceness for thy peace!Helena:My Antony!Antonio:And fierceness without falter!Helena:I am thine,Thine more than immortality is God's!Hear, does the nightingale not tell it thee?The stars do they not tremble it, the moonMurmur it argently into thine eyes?Antonio:Ah, sorceress! You need but breathe to putAbysm from us; but build words to float usOn infinite ecstasy. (Kisses her.)Helena:How, how thy kissesSing in me!Antonio:From my heart they do but sendEchoes born of thy beauty mid its strings!Helena:Then would I lean forever at thy lips,Lose no reverberance, no ring, no waft,Hear nothing everlastingly but them!
Helena:At twelve, said he, at twelve, beside the arbor?
Paula:Yes, mistress.
Helena:I were patient if the moonWould slip less sadly up. She is so pale—With longing for Endymion her lover.
Paula:Has she a lover? Oh, how strange. Is itSo sweet to love, my lady? I have heardMen die and women for it weep themselvesInto the grave—yet gladly.
Helena:Sweet? Ah, yes,To terror! for the edge of fate cares notHow quick it severs.
Paula:On my simple hillsThey told of one who slew herself on herDead lover's breast. Would you do so?Would you, my lady?
Helena:There's no twain in love.My heart is in my lord Antonio'sTo beat, Paula, or cease with it.
Paula:But diedHe far away?
Helena:Far sunders flesh not souls.Across all lands the hush of death on himWould sound to me; and, did he live, denial,Though every voice and silence spoke it, couldNot reach my rest!—But he is near.
Paula:O no,Not yet, my lady.
Helena:Then some wearinessHas pluckt the minutes' wings and they have crept.
Paula:But 'tis not twelve, else would we hear the bandOf holy Basil from their convent peaceDreamily chant.
Helena:Nay, hearts may hear beyondThe hark of ears! Listen! to me his stepThrills thro' the earth.(Antonioapproaches and enters the postern.)'Tis he! Go Paula, go:But sleep not.(Paulahastens out.)(Going to him.) My Antonio, I breathe,Now no betiding fell athwart thy pathTo stay thee from me!
Antonio:Stronger than all betidingThis hour has reached and drawn me yearning to thee! (Takes her in his arms.)
Helena:And may all hours!
Antonio:All! tho' we two will stillBe more than destiny—which cannot graspBeyond the grave.
Helena:'Tis sadly put, my lord.
Antonio:Ah, sadly, loathly; but, my Helena—
Helena:I would not sink from it, the simple sun—Fade to a tomb! What dirging hast thou heardTo mind thee of it?
Antonio:Love is a bliss too brightTo rest on earth. With it God should give usEver to soar above mortality.But you must know——!
Helena:Not yet, tell me not yet!Dimly I see the burden in your eyes,But dare not take it yet into my own.Let us a little look upon the moon,Forgetting. (They seat themselves.)
Antonio(musingly): These hands—this hair—(Caressing them.)
Helena:Like a farewellYour touch falls on them.
Antonio(moved):To a father yield them?
Helena:Antonio?
Antonio(still caressing): No, no! It cannot be!
Helena:This dread—and shrinking—let me have it!—speak!You mean—look on me!—mean, your father?—
Antonio:Ah!It must not! must not!
Helena:Do you mean—he—No!Let him not touch me even in thy thought,To me come nearer than a father may!
Antonio:He's swept by the sweet contagion of you, wraptIn a fierce spell by your effulgent youth.
Helena:Say, say it not! To him I but smiled up—But smiled!
Antonio:He knew not that such smiles could dawnIn a bare world. And now is flame; would takeYour tenderness into his arms and hearSeized to him the warm music of your heart.O, I could be for him—he is my father—Prometheus stormed and gnawed on Caucasus,Tantalus ever near the slipping wave,Or torn and tossed to burning martyrdom—But not—not this!
Helena:Then, flight! In it we mayFind haven and new nurture for our bliss.
Antonio:Snap from his hunger this one hope, so heMust starve? Push him who has but learned there's lightBack into yawning blindness? Ah, not flight!
Helena:I know he is your father, and my daysHave been all fatherless, tho' I have madeMe child to every wind that had caressAnd to each lonely tree of the deep wood—Oft envious of those who touch gray hairs,Or spend desire on filial grief and pang.And most have you a softness in him kept,Been to him more than empire's tyranny—But baffled none can measure him nor trust!
Antonio:Yet must we wait.
Helena:When waiting shall but goadThe speed of peril?
Antonio:Still: and strain to winHim from this brink.—If vainly, then birth, pity,And memory shall fall from me!—all, all,But fierceness for thy peace!
Helena:My Antony!
Antonio:And fierceness without falter!
Helena:I am thine,Thine more than immortality is God's!Hear, does the nightingale not tell it thee?The stars do they not tremble it, the moonMurmur it argently into thine eyes?
Antonio:Ah, sorceress! You need but breathe to putAbysm from us; but build words to float usOn infinite ecstasy. (Kisses her.)
Helena:How, how thy kissesSing in me!
Antonio:From my heart they do but sendEchoes born of thy beauty mid its strings!
Helena:Then would I lean forever at thy lips,Lose no reverberance, no ring, no waft,Hear nothing everlastingly but them!
(A mournful chant is borne from the Convent. They slowly unclasp, awed.)
Antonio:Weary with vigil does it swell and sink,Moaning the dead.Helena:Ah, no! There are no deadTo-night in all the world. Could God see themLie cold and wondrous still, while we are richIn warmth and throb!Antonio:Yet, hear. The funeral treadOf the old sea sighs in each strain, and breaks.Helena:As I were drowned and heard it over me,It cometh—cometh!
Antonio:Weary with vigil does it swell and sink,Moaning the dead.
Helena:Ah, no! There are no deadTo-night in all the world. Could God see themLie cold and wondrous still, while we are richIn warmth and throb!
Antonio:Yet, hear. The funeral treadOf the old sea sighs in each strain, and breaks.
Helena:As I were drowned and heard it over me,It cometh—cometh!
(Her head droops back on his arm. A pause.)
Antonio(touching her face): Cold! cold!—your lips—your brow!And you are pale as with a prophecy!Helena:Oh—oh!Antonio:Your spirit is not in you butAfar and suffering!Helena:A vision sweeps me.Antonio:Awake from it!Helena(recovering): A waste of waves that beatUpon a cliff—and beat! Yet thou and IHad place in it.Antonio:Come to yon arbour, come.The moon has looked too long on the sad earth,And can reflect but sorrow.Helena:Ah, I fear!(They go clinging passionately together.
Antonio(touching her face): Cold! cold!—your lips—your brow!And you are pale as with a prophecy!
Helena:Oh—oh!
Antonio:Your spirit is not in you butAfar and suffering!
Helena:A vision sweeps me.
Antonio:Awake from it!
Helena(recovering): A waste of waves that beatUpon a cliff—and beat! Yet thou and IHad place in it.
Antonio:Come to yon arbour, come.The moon has looked too long on the sad earth,And can reflect but sorrow.
Helena:Ah, I fear!(They go clinging passionately together.
EnterCharlesandCecco.
Charles:And yet it is a little thing to sleep—Just to lie down and sleep. A child may do it.Cecco:If my lord would, here's sleep for him wrapped inA quiet powder.Charles:Sleep is ever mateOf peace and should go with it. I have sleptIn the wild arms of battle when the windsOf souls departing fearfully shook by,And on the breast of dizzy danger cradledSoftly been lulled. Potions should be for themWho wrestle and are thrown by misery.Cecco:And is my lord at peace?Charles:Strangely.—Yet seemFor sleep too coldly calm.Cecco:So were you, sir—I keep your words lest you may need of them—On the same night young Hæmon's father wentThe secret way to death.Charles:Of that!—of that?—Cecco:Pardon, I but——Charles:Smirker!—Yet, was it so?That night indeed?Cecco:Sir, surely.Charles:And the moon's'Scutcheon hung stainless up the purple east?Cecco:Half, sir; even as now.Charles(as to himself): Since that hour's closeTo this I have not stood in so much calm.Still was he not in every vein of him,And breath, a traitor? A Greek who—I'll not say it,Since she is Greek I must forget the wordSounds the diapason of perfidy.Cecco:My lord thinks of the gentle Helena?Charles:And if I do?Cecco:Why, sir——Charles:Well?Cecco:Nothing: but——Charles:Subtle! your nothing harboreth some theftOf spial.Cecco:Sir, I—no—that is——Charles:That isIt does! Must I—persuade it from your throat?(Makes to choke him.)Cecco:It was of lord Antonio——Charles:Speak then.Cecco:Have you not marked him sundry of his moods?Charles:Well?Cecco:On his back in the wood as if the leavesSung fairy balladry; then riding wildNowhither and alone; about the castleYearning, yet absent to soft speech and arms!He'll drink, sir, and not know if it be wine!Charles:So is he! but to-day he bold unsheathedHis skill and bravery.Cecco:And did not craveA boon of you?Charles:None. But you put not illMy thought to it. His aspiration flags——Cecco:Ah, flags.Charles:New wings it needs and buoyancy.My trust in him is ripe: the fruit of it,He shall be lord of Arta—total lord.Cecco:He begged no softer boon?Charles:Cunning! again?Sleek questions of a sleeker consequence?Cecco:It was, sir, only of Antonio.Charles:Worm, you began so. Stretch now to the end,Or—will you?Cecco:I would say—would ask—and hopeThere is no thorny hint in it to vex you,To prick your humor—may not he be sick,Amorous, mellow sick upon some maid?Charles:Have you so labored to this atom's birth?Is a boy's passion so new under the moonYou gape at it?Cecco:But if, sir——Charles:I had thoughtWould start up in your words some Titan woe,No human catapult could war upon!Some dread colossal doom, frenzied to fall!Were it he's traitor gnawing at my throne,Or ready with some potent crueltyTo blight this tenderness new-sprung in me—I would—even have listened!
Charles:And yet it is a little thing to sleep—Just to lie down and sleep. A child may do it.
Cecco:If my lord would, here's sleep for him wrapped inA quiet powder.
Charles:Sleep is ever mateOf peace and should go with it. I have sleptIn the wild arms of battle when the windsOf souls departing fearfully shook by,And on the breast of dizzy danger cradledSoftly been lulled. Potions should be for themWho wrestle and are thrown by misery.
Cecco:And is my lord at peace?
Charles:Strangely.—Yet seemFor sleep too coldly calm.
Cecco:So were you, sir—I keep your words lest you may need of them—On the same night young Hæmon's father wentThe secret way to death.
Charles:Of that!—of that?—
Cecco:Pardon, I but——
Charles:Smirker!—Yet, was it so?That night indeed?
Cecco:Sir, surely.
Charles:And the moon's'Scutcheon hung stainless up the purple east?
Cecco:Half, sir; even as now.
Charles(as to himself): Since that hour's closeTo this I have not stood in so much calm.Still was he not in every vein of him,And breath, a traitor? A Greek who—I'll not say it,Since she is Greek I must forget the wordSounds the diapason of perfidy.
Cecco:My lord thinks of the gentle Helena?
Charles:And if I do?
Cecco:Why, sir——
Charles:Well?
Cecco:Nothing: but——
Charles:Subtle! your nothing harboreth some theftOf spial.
Cecco:Sir, I—no—that is——
Charles:That isIt does! Must I—persuade it from your throat?(Makes to choke him.)
Cecco:It was of lord Antonio——
Charles:Speak then.
Cecco:Have you not marked him sundry of his moods?
Charles:Well?
Cecco:On his back in the wood as if the leavesSung fairy balladry; then riding wildNowhither and alone; about the castleYearning, yet absent to soft speech and arms!He'll drink, sir, and not know if it be wine!
Charles:So is he! but to-day he bold unsheathedHis skill and bravery.
Cecco:And did not craveA boon of you?
Charles:None. But you put not illMy thought to it. His aspiration flags——
Cecco:Ah, flags.
Charles:New wings it needs and buoyancy.My trust in him is ripe: the fruit of it,He shall be lord of Arta—total lord.
Cecco:He begged no softer boon?
Charles:Cunning! again?Sleek questions of a sleeker consequence?
Cecco:It was, sir, only of Antonio.
Charles:Worm, you began so. Stretch now to the end,Or—will you?
Cecco:I would say—would ask—and hopeThere is no thorny hint in it to vex you,To prick your humor—may not he be sick,Amorous, mellow sick upon some maid?
Charles:Have you so labored to this atom's birth?Is a boy's passion so new under the moonYou gape at it?
Cecco:But if, sir——
Charles:I had thoughtWould start up in your words some Titan woe,No human catapult could war upon!Some dread colossal doom, frenzied to fall!Were it he's traitor gnawing at my throne,Or ready with some potent crueltyTo blight this tenderness new-sprung in me—I would—even have listened!
(Noise is heard at the postern. It is unlocked.Hæmonenters, and stops in consternation.)
Charles:Keys? To—this?Hæmon:I—have excuse.Charles:Perchance also you haveThem to my gems and secrecies? Shall INot show their hiding?—rubies, and fair gold?Hæmon:Mistake me not, my lord.Charles:I could not: youHave come at midnight—a most honest hour.Enter this postern—a most honest way,And seem most honest—Why, I could not, sir!Hæmon:You wrong me, and have wronged me. I but comeTo loose my sister.Charles:As to-day you wouldHave loosed her with a piercing—into death?Hæmon:Rather, could I! Antonio—yet neither.Since you, not he, are here, my passion meltsInto a plea. Humbly as manhood may—Charles:This fever still?Hæmon:This fever! Must I beAs ice while soiling flames leap out at her?And passionless—as one cold in a trance?Rigid while she in stealth is drugged to shame?Be voiceless and be vain, unstung, and still?I must wait softly while her innocenceIs drained as virgin freshness from the morn?—Though he were twice Antonio and your son,An emperor and a god, I would not!Charles:Ever,And ever bent upon Antonio?Be not a torrent, boy, of rush and foam.Be not, of roar!—Yet—look: Antonio?You said Antonio?Hæmon:Yes.Charles(troubled):You did illTo say it! He's my son.Hæmon:I care not.Charles:HaveYou cause—a ground—some reason? Men should whenSuspicions curve their lips.Hæmon:Cause! reason!Charles:No:He is my son. His flesh has memoriesThat would cry out and curdle him to madness,Palsy and strangle every pregnant wish,Or bring in him compassion like a flood.Hæmon(contemptuous): O——?Charles:Never!—Yet, a lurking at my brain!
Charles:Keys? To—this?
Hæmon:I—have excuse.
Charles:Perchance also you haveThem to my gems and secrecies? Shall INot show their hiding?—rubies, and fair gold?
Hæmon:Mistake me not, my lord.
Charles:I could not: youHave come at midnight—a most honest hour.Enter this postern—a most honest way,And seem most honest—Why, I could not, sir!
Hæmon:You wrong me, and have wronged me. I but comeTo loose my sister.
Charles:As to-day you wouldHave loosed her with a piercing—into death?
Hæmon:Rather, could I! Antonio—yet neither.Since you, not he, are here, my passion meltsInto a plea. Humbly as manhood may—
Charles:This fever still?
Hæmon:This fever! Must I beAs ice while soiling flames leap out at her?And passionless—as one cold in a trance?Rigid while she in stealth is drugged to shame?Be voiceless and be vain, unstung, and still?I must wait softly while her innocenceIs drained as virgin freshness from the morn?—Though he were twice Antonio and your son,An emperor and a god, I would not!
Charles:Ever,And ever bent upon Antonio?Be not a torrent, boy, of rush and foam.Be not, of roar!—Yet—look: Antonio?You said Antonio?
Hæmon:Yes.
Charles(troubled):You did illTo say it! He's my son.
Hæmon:I care not.
Charles:HaveYou cause—a ground—some reason? Men should whenSuspicions curve their lips.
Hæmon:Cause! reason!
Charles:No:He is my son. His flesh has memoriesThat would cry out and curdle him to madness,Palsy and strangle every pregnant wish,Or bring in him compassion like a flood.
Hæmon(contemptuous): O——?
Charles:Never!—Yet, a lurking at my brain!
EnterPaula,hurriedly.
Paula:My lord Antonio! my lady! (SeeingCharles.) O!Charles(strangely): Come here.Paula:O, sir!Charles(taking her wrist): Were you not in a haste?Paula:I—I—I do not know.Charles:Girl!—Why do youDrop fearful to your knees?Paula:'Tis late, sir, late,Let me go in!Charles:You have a mistress whoKeeps quick temptation in her eyes and hair.A shy mole too lies pillowed on her cheek—Does she rest well?Paula:My lord——Charles:Ah, you would sayShe sometimes walks asleep: and you have comeTo fetch her?Paula:Loose me, sir!Charles:Or she has leftHer kerchief in some nook: you seek it?Paula:O,Your eyes! your eyes!Charles:I have a son: are hisNot like them?Paula:My wrist, sir!Charles:It was night, then—night?You could not see him clearly?Paula:Mercy!Charles(looking about):YetPerchance he too walks in his sleep. Were itQuite well if they have met—these two that walk?Paula:My lady, my sweet lady!Charles(releasing her):Go, for sheStill wonderful may lie upon her couch,One arm dropt whitely. If you prayed for her—If you should pray for her—Something may chance:There is so much may chance—we cannot know!(Paulagoes.(Disturbed.) This child who hath but dwelt about her, touchedAnd coiled the mystery of her hair, has mightAlmost too much!Hæmon:You cloud me with these words.Were they Antonio's——Charles:If I but think"Helena" must you link "Antonio" to it!Can they not be, yet be apart? Will windsNot bear them, and not sound them separate!If angels cry one at the stars will theyBut echo back the other?—This is froth—The froth and fume of folly. You are thickIn falsity, and in disquietude.Another rapture rules Antonio's eye,Not Helena.Hæmon:You know it—yet have ledHer to his arms?Charles:His arms! Ah, mole to burrowThus under blind and muddy misbelief!To mine is she come here. (Terribly.) Were he a seraph,And did from Paradise desire to fold her—No mercy!—But, I will speak as a child,As he who woke with Ruth fair at his feet;Long have I gleaned amid the years and lone.She shall glean softly now beside me—softly,Till sunset fail in me and I am night.Hæmon:This is a gin, a net, and I am fast!Charles:A net to snare what never has been free?Hæmon:Still must it be this tenderness lives falseUpon your lips.Charles:"Must," say you, "must," yet stand——Hæmon:Then shall he rest—lie easy down and rest In treachery?Charles:He——?Hæmon:Yes.Charles:You mean——?Hæmon:Yes!—yes!Charles:Antonio?Hæmon:Is it not open?Charles(confusedly):No:Glooms start around me, glooms that seethe and cling.Hæmon:This maid who called, did she come idly here?You stir? you rouse?Charles:A coldness runs in me.Hæmon:And have not I come strangely on the hour!Charles:It 'gins to burn!Hæmon:Not entered a strange way?Charles:You pause and ever pause upon my patience.'Twill heave unbearably!Hæmon:Then hear me, hear!—Senseless against a bank I found a boy,Hurled by some ruthless hoof. Near him this keyAnd writing——Charles:Tell it!Hæmon:That avows, mid linesClandestine of purport, AntonioAnd Helena, under these shades at twelve——Charles:You bring on me a furious desolation.But Fulvia, ah, she——Hæmon:Not there is trust!She is aware and aids in his deceit.This writing says it of her.Charles:Fulvia? No!No, no!—Though she had sudden whispers for him!A lie—Yet fast belief fixes its fangsOn me and will not loose me—for againstMy hope she set a coldness and a doubt!O woman woven through all fibres of me!(Starting up.) But he——!Hæmon:Ah then, it runs in you, the rushAnd pang that answer mine?Charles(quietly):If they are still——Hæmon:Under these shades?Charles:And—lips to lips——Hæmon:Ah, God!You will?—you will?Charles:Hush! something—No, it wasBut fate cried out in me, not any voice.Hæmon:We must be swift.Charles:It cries again. I willNot listen! He's not flesh of me—not flesh!A traitor is no son, nor was nor shall be!Though it shriek desolation utterlyI will not listen!Hæmon:Do not!Charles:And to-dayHe shook, ashen and clenched, rememberingThe guilty secret in him!Hæmon:Still he's free.Charles:My words fell warm as tears—"A rift has come,A rift, a smile, a breath"—men speak so whenThey creep from madness up into some spaceWhose element is love.Hæmon:And will you sinkTo a weak palsy—who should o'erwhelmWith penalty!Charles(rousing): No! all and ever falseWas he who's so when most he should be true!I will make treachery bitter to all time.Bring dread on all to whom are given sons!Down generations shall they peer and tremble,Look on me as on majesties accursed!—Search every shade—search, search! You stand as death.I am in famine till he gives me groan!(They go in opposite directions.
Paula:My lord Antonio! my lady! (SeeingCharles.) O!
Charles(strangely): Come here.
Paula:O, sir!
Charles(taking her wrist): Were you not in a haste?
Paula:I—I—I do not know.
Charles:Girl!—Why do youDrop fearful to your knees?
Paula:'Tis late, sir, late,Let me go in!
Charles:You have a mistress whoKeeps quick temptation in her eyes and hair.A shy mole too lies pillowed on her cheek—Does she rest well?
Paula:My lord——
Charles:Ah, you would sayShe sometimes walks asleep: and you have comeTo fetch her?
Paula:Loose me, sir!
Charles:Or she has leftHer kerchief in some nook: you seek it?
Paula:O,Your eyes! your eyes!
Charles:I have a son: are hisNot like them?
Paula:My wrist, sir!
Charles:It was night, then—night?You could not see him clearly?
Paula:Mercy!
Charles(looking about):YetPerchance he too walks in his sleep. Were itQuite well if they have met—these two that walk?
Paula:My lady, my sweet lady!
Charles(releasing her):Go, for sheStill wonderful may lie upon her couch,One arm dropt whitely. If you prayed for her—If you should pray for her—Something may chance:There is so much may chance—we cannot know!(Paulagoes.(Disturbed.) This child who hath but dwelt about her, touchedAnd coiled the mystery of her hair, has mightAlmost too much!
Hæmon:You cloud me with these words.Were they Antonio's——
Charles:If I but think"Helena" must you link "Antonio" to it!Can they not be, yet be apart? Will windsNot bear them, and not sound them separate!If angels cry one at the stars will theyBut echo back the other?—This is froth—The froth and fume of folly. You are thickIn falsity, and in disquietude.Another rapture rules Antonio's eye,Not Helena.
Hæmon:You know it—yet have ledHer to his arms?
Charles:His arms! Ah, mole to burrowThus under blind and muddy misbelief!To mine is she come here. (Terribly.) Were he a seraph,And did from Paradise desire to fold her—No mercy!—But, I will speak as a child,As he who woke with Ruth fair at his feet;Long have I gleaned amid the years and lone.She shall glean softly now beside me—softly,Till sunset fail in me and I am night.
Hæmon:This is a gin, a net, and I am fast!
Charles:A net to snare what never has been free?
Hæmon:Still must it be this tenderness lives falseUpon your lips.
Charles:"Must," say you, "must," yet stand——
Hæmon:Then shall he rest—lie easy down and rest In treachery?
Charles:He——?
Hæmon:Yes.
Charles:You mean——?
Hæmon:Yes!—yes!
Charles:Antonio?
Hæmon:Is it not open?
Charles(confusedly):No:Glooms start around me, glooms that seethe and cling.
Hæmon:This maid who called, did she come idly here?You stir? you rouse?
Charles:A coldness runs in me.
Hæmon:And have not I come strangely on the hour!
Charles:It 'gins to burn!
Hæmon:Not entered a strange way?
Charles:You pause and ever pause upon my patience.'Twill heave unbearably!
Hæmon:Then hear me, hear!—Senseless against a bank I found a boy,Hurled by some ruthless hoof. Near him this keyAnd writing——
Charles:Tell it!
Hæmon:That avows, mid linesClandestine of purport, AntonioAnd Helena, under these shades at twelve——
Charles:You bring on me a furious desolation.But Fulvia, ah, she——
Hæmon:Not there is trust!She is aware and aids in his deceit.This writing says it of her.
Charles:Fulvia? No!No, no!—Though she had sudden whispers for him!A lie—Yet fast belief fixes its fangsOn me and will not loose me—for againstMy hope she set a coldness and a doubt!O woman woven through all fibres of me!(Starting up.) But he——!
Hæmon:Ah then, it runs in you, the rushAnd pang that answer mine?
Charles(quietly):If they are still——
Hæmon:Under these shades?
Charles:And—lips to lips——
Hæmon:Ah, God!You will?—you will?
Charles:Hush! something—No, it wasBut fate cried out in me, not any voice.
Hæmon:We must be swift.
Charles:It cries again. I willNot listen! He's not flesh of me—not flesh!A traitor is no son, nor was nor shall be!Though it shriek desolation utterlyI will not listen!
Hæmon:Do not!
Charles:And to-dayHe shook, ashen and clenched, rememberingThe guilty secret in him!
Hæmon:Still he's free.
Charles:My words fell warm as tears—"A rift has come,A rift, a smile, a breath"—men speak so whenThey creep from madness up into some spaceWhose element is love.
Hæmon:And will you sinkTo a weak palsy—who should o'erwhelmWith penalty!
Charles(rousing): No! all and ever falseWas he who's so when most he should be true!I will make treachery bitter to all time.Bring dread on all to whom are given sons!Down generations shall they peer and tremble,Look on me as on majesties accursed!—Search every shade—search, search! You stand as death.I am in famine till he gives me groan!(They go in opposite directions.
EnterFulvia,distressed, andGiulia.